Mystic Elevator
The bottom of things. -or- What's all this, then?
You gotta figure out what the hell Jim is talking about. It's completely insane to believe that you were murdered last week, but the idea still gives you a chill. You walk inside the building and are about to go straight to Michael's desk when you feel the urge to urinate.
The restroom is on the way, so you duck inside. When you walk in you are immediately confronted by a terrible aroma. The funk lingers in the air like a noxious fog. You try not to gag on it, but find yourself unable to stop.
Thinking quickly, you cover the tip of your nose with the inside of your shirt and are blessed with the more comforting aromas of deodorant and detergent. It's a survival tactic you've learned long ago. You are glad to have learned such a trait, you think as you whip out your junk and aim for the porcelain. The stench outside was unbearable. Truly unbearable. It didn't smell like anything that would come from a human, that's for sure.
When you reach to flush the urinal you catch a whiff of rancid stench. You gag again, almost immediately. You wash your hands quickly.
"Whatever you've been eating," You say to the mysterious crapper in the second stall, "It was spoiled long before you ate it. "
You practically burst through the door, gulping down deep breaths from the air. The embrace of fresh air is welcoming. Thank God for clean air. Relatively clean, anyway.
Your feet carry you along on your trek to Michael's desk. It is a swift journey. Michael's desk, however, is vacant.
You let out a frustrated breath and begin walking back to your cube. The new girl with the big boobs and the scary teeth passes by. She smiles a bit, but not so much as to show the rows of fangs. You try to avoid eye contact.
Your desk is soon before you and you reach for the back of your chair. Before you can sit down, you feel a hand touch your shoulder. You turn around to see Gary, another of your superiors. Gary is one of the senior supervisors, and holds a bit more weight than the rest of them. When Gary comes, it's never good.
"Will you accompany me to my office?" He asks in a deceivingly courteous tone.
It's not like you have any real option here. When Gary wants to see you, you go. You follow his wide ass to his office, where he holds open the door for you. Inside his office, there was a surprise waiting for you.
Michael.
He stares at you coldly with his penetrating gaze. He doesn't bother attempting to disguise the contempt in his eyes. This will definitely not be pleasant meeting, you think as you sit down in one of the chairs that Gary motions you to.
"So what's going on, here?" You ask as Gary takes a seat behind the desk.
Gary fixes you with an even gaze. "What the hell are you doing here?"
You look at him with evident confusion in your eyes. "You brought me here, Gary. I'm not really sure what I'm doing here."
"You are supposed to be dead," he tells you. "Michael was supposed to kill you. He claims that he did it, that he killed you. But here you are, sitting before me."
Gary gives Michael a disappointed look. "Why must you lie to me, Michael?"
Michael stammers a bit. "I- I'm not lying. I killed him. Stabbed a knife right through his heart. I buried him myself. I-I.. He's lying."
"Clearly he's not lying," big Gary says.
While no visit to this particular supervisors' office is pleasant, this meeting in particular is the most bone chilling. There is a lingering cold grip of terror shaking your spine as you try to come to terms with what they are saying.
"The question now," he says, "is what are we going to do about it?"
Both sets of eyes turn to you. There is a cold intensity behind those orbs which does nothing to quell the mounting fear within you. They size you up as though you are a spill on the carpet, searching for a simple solution on how to clean you up.
"The problem is that he's here. In the office," Gary explains. "Which means we can't just kill him here. People will notice he's missing."
"Why can't we just take care of him here and tell everyone that he went home sick?" Michael asked.
The senior supervisor fixes your peer with a thoughtful glance. "That's not such a bad idea, really."
"But what if people notice something?" Michael asks.
"Something like what?" Gary retorts.
"I don't know. Like not remembering seeing him leave. Or stumbling upon some body parts," he suggests.
They continue discussing the pros and cons of your demise while you consider your options. It might be wise to just run now, while they are engaged in conversation, get out of there while the opportunity presents itself. On the other hand, perhaps you should wait for the right moment to spring an attack on them. Turn the tables, so to speak. Give them a bit of what they intend to give you.
Whatever the case, you had better make a decision soon. There may not be another opportunity for an escape if you wait any longer. The choice is yours and the time to choose is now.
You gotta figure out what the hell Jim is talking about. It's completely insane to believe that you were murdered last week, but the idea still gives you a chill. You walk inside the building and are about to go straight to Michael's desk when you feel the urge to urinate.
The restroom is on the way, so you duck inside. When you walk in you are immediately confronted by a terrible aroma. The funk lingers in the air like a noxious fog. You try not to gag on it, but find yourself unable to stop.
Thinking quickly, you cover the tip of your nose with the inside of your shirt and are blessed with the more comforting aromas of deodorant and detergent. It's a survival tactic you've learned long ago. You are glad to have learned such a trait, you think as you whip out your junk and aim for the porcelain. The stench outside was unbearable. Truly unbearable. It didn't smell like anything that would come from a human, that's for sure.
When you reach to flush the urinal you catch a whiff of rancid stench. You gag again, almost immediately. You wash your hands quickly.
"Whatever you've been eating," You say to the mysterious crapper in the second stall, "It was spoiled long before you ate it. "
You practically burst through the door, gulping down deep breaths from the air. The embrace of fresh air is welcoming. Thank God for clean air. Relatively clean, anyway.
Your feet carry you along on your trek to Michael's desk. It is a swift journey. Michael's desk, however, is vacant.
You let out a frustrated breath and begin walking back to your cube. The new girl with the big boobs and the scary teeth passes by. She smiles a bit, but not so much as to show the rows of fangs. You try to avoid eye contact.
Your desk is soon before you and you reach for the back of your chair. Before you can sit down, you feel a hand touch your shoulder. You turn around to see Gary, another of your superiors. Gary is one of the senior supervisors, and holds a bit more weight than the rest of them. When Gary comes, it's never good.
"Will you accompany me to my office?" He asks in a deceivingly courteous tone.
It's not like you have any real option here. When Gary wants to see you, you go. You follow his wide ass to his office, where he holds open the door for you. Inside his office, there was a surprise waiting for you.
Michael.
He stares at you coldly with his penetrating gaze. He doesn't bother attempting to disguise the contempt in his eyes. This will definitely not be pleasant meeting, you think as you sit down in one of the chairs that Gary motions you to.
"So what's going on, here?" You ask as Gary takes a seat behind the desk.
Gary fixes you with an even gaze. "What the hell are you doing here?"
You look at him with evident confusion in your eyes. "You brought me here, Gary. I'm not really sure what I'm doing here."
"You are supposed to be dead," he tells you. "Michael was supposed to kill you. He claims that he did it, that he killed you. But here you are, sitting before me."
Gary gives Michael a disappointed look. "Why must you lie to me, Michael?"
Michael stammers a bit. "I- I'm not lying. I killed him. Stabbed a knife right through his heart. I buried him myself. I-I.. He's lying."
"Clearly he's not lying," big Gary says.
While no visit to this particular supervisors' office is pleasant, this meeting in particular is the most bone chilling. There is a lingering cold grip of terror shaking your spine as you try to come to terms with what they are saying.
"The question now," he says, "is what are we going to do about it?"
Both sets of eyes turn to you. There is a cold intensity behind those orbs which does nothing to quell the mounting fear within you. They size you up as though you are a spill on the carpet, searching for a simple solution on how to clean you up.
"The problem is that he's here. In the office," Gary explains. "Which means we can't just kill him here. People will notice he's missing."
"Why can't we just take care of him here and tell everyone that he went home sick?" Michael asked.
The senior supervisor fixes your peer with a thoughtful glance. "That's not such a bad idea, really."
"But what if people notice something?" Michael asks.
"Something like what?" Gary retorts.
"I don't know. Like not remembering seeing him leave. Or stumbling upon some body parts," he suggests.
They continue discussing the pros and cons of your demise while you consider your options. It might be wise to just run now, while they are engaged in conversation, get out of there while the opportunity presents itself. On the other hand, perhaps you should wait for the right moment to spring an attack on them. Turn the tables, so to speak. Give them a bit of what they intend to give you.
Whatever the case, you had better make a decision soon. There may not be another opportunity for an escape if you wait any longer. The choice is yours and the time to choose is now.